Bad Habits
by mandaree1
Summary: 'Some of Timmy's bad habit's are still with him as an adult. But just because they're OLD does that mean they're BAD' Set in the good future from Channel Chasers. Don't like don't read! No flames! ONESHOT!


**Disclaimer: I don't own The Fairly Odd parents**

**Summary: 'Some of Timmy's bad habit's are still with him as an adult. But just because they're OLD does that mean they're BAD?'**

**Warnings: Possibly O.O.C? **

**...**

He may be nervous, but that didn't mean he wasn't one hundred percent sure he was going to get this job.

And why wouldn't he? He had all the credentials they wanted, he was wearing his lucky pink tie and carrying his favorite green pen (which wasn't a very smooth writing utensil, but he'd always used the ensemble of green and pink (and purple sometimes) ever since he was a kid, and he'd been pretty lucky back then, so why stop using it now?) And, while his competitors were going to try to butt-kiss their way in, he was more than ready to use all the sly and crafty tricks he'd invented over the years to get the things he wanted. He had it in the bag.

Except he didn't. He glanced around the room, straightened his tie. Their was a _lot_ of people going for this position, some of them even better than he was, so it'd take a lot of careful planning to get in, and he'd never really had the attention span to plan.

"I can do this." He swore under his breath. Anyone else would think he was talking to himself, but that wasn't the case. "I'm better than any of these losers." If ties and pens could talk, he was sure they'd agree.

He was just a kid when he started doing it. He vaguely remembered spending hours enthusiastically chattering away to his fish. Or his balloons. Or his books. Or whatever items of his that were in the vicinity. He still, to this day, talked to inanimate objects. It had kept him calm and made him feel less lonely in his mostly parental guidance-less childhood, and by the time he'd outgrown the need for it he was a grown up and never thought about stopping it. Any objects would do, but he (for some odd reason) preferred the pink and green ones. He was pretty sure it had something to do with his beloved goldfish (he could swear they had those eye colors) that he'd spent most of his adolescent and pre-teen years carrying around. He was never separated from them, and when he was, he wasn't happy.

But pink and green were still he favorite, even if he really loved purple.

Purple was only for special occasions. He wore purple to prom, purple to his first house search, purple when his children were born. And while he loved the color and felt even more comfortable wearing it then when he wore green and pink, and could use the extra luck, he didn't want to pull out the big guns for a job interview.

"Turner, you're up!"

He stood up, re-adjusted his tie and pen, and walked confidently towards the door.

"I can do this." He repeated. He knew his tie and pen agreed.

* * *

"I'm home!" He called, opening then closing the door. "And I got the job!"

"That's great!" Tommy and Tammy both agreed (they always seemed to talk in sync when they wanted to hurry a conversation along). They sped over to him and _away_ from the Vikki-bot, Tammy pushing his legs while Tommy closed the door.

"You're not going anywhere else today, right?" Tommy pleaded, joining his sister in pushing him away from the door. "You don't have anywhere else to be today, right? So Vikki-bot can go home, right?"

"Of course." He agreed, and the pushing stopped. "Thanks for taking care of the kids, Vikki-bot. Same time tomorrow?"

"Yes, Mr. Turner, that would be _perfect_." The machine droned, playfully smiling at the kids. They cowered behind him. "I'll see you both tomorrow."

They stayed behind him until she left. It must have been some kind of game, he decided with a shrug, a strange version of hide and go seek.

"Hey dad?" Tommy stomped behind him, teeth grinding together in irritation. He swore he saw smoke. "Did you ever have a babysitter as a kid?"

"Actually, yes I did. Her name was Vikki. Weird coincidence, huh?"

"well, I don't know about a _coincidence_." Tammy commented, following alongside her brother "Was she a _good_ babysitter?"

He winced, remembering the threat of what would happen if any kid told anyone about the real Vikki. "Er... You could say that. I'm going to go make dinner. Why don't you bring your fish down to eat with us? I'm sure their bored stiff sitting in your room all day."

"Er, uh, well, sure!"

Taking off his tie and setting it across the mirror, he carefully placed the pen on his dresser. "Thanks for the help today." He told them both, before retreating back into the kitchen from his room to make the promised meal.

* * *

"Whoops!" The purple salt shaker lid fell over, a few grains tipping onto the tablecloth. "Sorry."

"Who are you apologizing to?" Tammy asked. They watched as he tossed a pinch over his left shoulder. "Dad, are you superstitious?"

"No one." He mumbled. "And yeah, I am. Ever since I was a kid." He vaguely remembered his favorite amusement park sinking into the earth and falling apart on Friday the thirteenth when he was a child, and being superstitious ever since.

The kids both shot a curious glance to the fish bowl currently acting as a form of center piece, although he couldn't imagine why. It wasn't like the fish could understand them!

* * *

"So... If your superstitious, you don't walk under ladders?" Tommy asked, leaning foreword. Maybe he was truly interested, maybe he was bored. Either way, it didn't really matter.

"No." He wiped his mouth with his napkin, practice giving him the ability to do so without the cloth getting caught or ripping on his buck teeth. (and if grandpappy hadn't been the coolest guy on earth, he'd_ still_ be blaming him for the hassle to took to do simple things like wiping his mouth. Stupid teeth.)

"Let black cats cross your path?" A smile crossed his face, hands rubbing together under the table as an idea began to form.

"Nope."

"Break mirrors? He snickered.

"No, never."

"Tommy, leave dad alone." Tammy nudged him. "So what if he's extra careful? He's trying to come up with prank." She informed him.

"Am no!"

"Are so!"

"Am not!"

"Are so!"

He sighed, turning back to his dinner. He swore he could hear chuckling from the centerpiece, but brushed it off. Fish couldn't chuckle, right? He was hearing things.

* * *

The argument having quickly turned into a screaming match, Timmy quickly gave up the idea of having a peaceful night. "Think they'll get over it?" He asked the fish.

They moved left, then right. Did that mean no? He sighed. "I didn't think so. Maybe it's a phase?"

They blew bubbles. He guessed that meant they were laughing. Another sigh. "I could hope." He heard the yells turn into squeals of pain. Apparently, they had upgraded into fighting. "And that's my cue to step in! Thanks guys, now I remember why I loved _my_ fish so much."

Had he watched, he would have seen the smiles overtake all three faces. If only he knew...

Some bad habits are bad, but that didn't mean his were.

**Review! No flames! Don't like don't read!**


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